


haunt

by deadbrave



Series: the preternatural anthology [1]
Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, M/M, not really im sorry, technically roe is already dead before the fic begins but...just in case, with a certain point of view it's a happy ending?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29702955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadbrave/pseuds/deadbrave
Summary: babe centric. Roe is killed in the air raid on Bastogne. Thing is, Babe keeps seeing him after.
Relationships: Carwood Lipton/Ronald Speirs (background), Edward "Babe" Heffron/Eugene Roe
Series: the preternatural anthology [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197101
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7
Collections: Loose Lips Sink Ships Prompt Meme





	haunt

Babe was used to the frigid cold, to mountains of snow, and to a certain extent, was no stranger to death. He grew up poor in Philly--those were all just parts of the life he’d been birthed into. When November came around, young men prepared to practically break their backs shoveling either for their family or others that didn’t have the time or body for a bit of spare cash. The cash would come in handy later during the winter when food was scarce and heating prices skyrocketed to criminal numbers. A person could get used to those constant muscle aches, could get used to shivering even when layered in numerous blankets and stuffed into outerwear like a fucking sausage. You could even get used to watching your friends die; from illness that could easily be stopped by unaffordable medication, from accidents, or because they just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone could adjust to any sort of new status quo, given time and exposure, but there was just something about Bastogne and the Ardennes that  _ haunted _ Babe. 

There was an eerie, unsettling silence that only dispersed with the rocking of artillery and the shouts of the dying, a silence that settled in your bones and forced even the most talkable people to still their wagging tongues, Babe included. Even though he was always around people, he’d never felt more isolated in his entire life, cut off from what made him feel human and alive in the first place. The lack of sleep didn’t help either; when his eyelids were too frozen to blink unless forced, he swore that he could see shadows at the edges of his vision, watching him, waiting. For what? Babe was unsure as to the answer to that question and wasn’t positive that he’d ever receive any sort of satisfying reply. Because he was from the city, a silence like this was new and unknown and left Babe exposed in ways that he’d never been when there was constant noise and movement and an underlying urgency that thrummed through your blood. 

It started when Julian died, innocuous enough, at first. It’s not as though Babe was physically able to sleep, too keyed up on the suffocating waves of loss, the knowledge that there had been a chance that he could’ve saved his friend. A boy, younger than him, who he’d become quite fond of, shot down in his prime--if it weren’t the norm now, Babe would’ve probably shattered; as it was, he was barely holding himself together. He sought comfort in the form of company, quiet, as ever, but warm, at least, when Babe could barely stand sitting in his foxhole for more than a few minutes at a time now, let alone sleep in it. Even with Spina beside him, a very real, corporal presence, Babe couldn’t blink away the shadow that sat in front of him, unmoving, unmistakeable, eyes that had once been big, brown, and curious a glazed over milky white, though the friendly smile remained, which only made the image more jarring. Thankfully, Julian hadn’t tried to talk to him, only sat there stiller than he ever had been in life, staring back at him. It was different with Roe. 

Winters didn’t think he’d be sending Eugene to his death when he’d told the medic to get some hot chow as well as some deserved time off the line; he’d thought the exact opposite, believing that it would lift the spirits of someone so close to the edge that he was one shove from falling. Babe had heard after the fact, after Roe’s body had been collected from the town of Bastogne underneath piles of bricks and wood and buried far away from his home in Louisiana, that he had rushed into a collapsing building to help the wounded and other medics get out only to be crushed metaphorically under the weight of his too kind and overeager heart. Roe’s death was shocking news to the entirety of Easy, but Babe seemed to be taking the loss as heavily as Winters, who felt partially responsible, and Spina, who’d lost yet another competent companion when they were short medics already. 

Babe hadn’t come to terms with his feelings for Eugene yet. He hadn’t been given the chance--it was hard to face the fact that you were falling for someone when amid a brutal and deadly conflict and had other things on your mind. Often, Babe felt guilty for even thinking about Roe in any sort of romantic light, fuck knew that he was probably straight and would feel uncomfortable with just how sappy and romantic Babe’s thoughts could be when it came to him. He figured the lingering gazes full of longing were enough of an indicator that he was interested and if the feelings were returned, something would’ve happened by now, but it was too late at this juncture. Babe would never know what might’ve blossomed between them because Eugene would never open his eyes again. 

Babe had been avoiding the other men for a few days now, his only company the ever-present, ever silent companion of Julian, who never wavered from his side, even when the forest was consumed in the darkness of the night and the rattling earthquake of a firefight. Babe was, needless to say, quite miserable. His stomach had been particularly unruly as of late so he hadn’t eaten and the nausea rolling through him was almost as unpleasant as the sight of Julian on the other side of the foxhole. Exhausted, irritable, starving, and freezing did not lead to Babe having a good temperament. 

“Can’t ya go ‘nd bother Martin or somethin’? Ain’t he the one who left ya out there to die? Why ya always gotta bother me, Julian?” Babe snapped, heated cheeks burning painfully in the cool air. Embarrassed at his outburst, Babe expected and received no reply from his foxhole buddy. He huffed and stuffed his hands deeper into his armpits, dropping his helmet-heavy head against the frozen dirt that was his home. Hearing the crunching of snow, Babe peered out of the foxhole, expecting to see Lipton making his rounds only to find nothing. There was nothing, yet the crunching continued, growing louder on the approach to Babe’s foxhole. Babe’s brows furrowed and he wormed away from the direction of the noise, gaze head on to where it was coming from yet still unseeing of the perpetrator. If it weren’t for the call of noise discipline, Babe would be telling off whoever was pulling this prank, you bet your ass. 

Finally, the sound of footfalls stopped, just shy of the lip of the foxhole. Babe closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. When he opened his eyes, Babe jumped--all the effort to calm himself and there he was, panicking once again, slick palms wettening his gloves. Instead of one pair of cold, milky grey eyes staring at him, there were now two, and Babe was none too fucking pleased that he seemed to suddenly have the ability to see the dead. Go figure. Maybe he was going fucking insane, like Crazy Joe. 

“What, you, too? Christ, you’ve been dead for two days, Gene. Couldn’t you have just let me be?” Babe blurted, not expecting to hear a reply, tears burning at the edges of his eyes. Fuck’s sake, as if he wasn’t tortured enough. Might as well put himself out of his misery, if he was doomed to see those that he loved after they died. It wasn’t the least bit comforting, and it made Babe miss Eugene’s warm, intelligent gaze more than he had been before. There was nothing in those eyes. 

“Well, I had ta walk quite a ways. Glad to see ya haven’t changed a bit, Edward.” Babe blinked once, twice, thrice, before swallowing hard to dislodge the lump that’d risen in his throat. Eugene was dead. Sure, he hadn’t seen his body, but he’d trusted the word of commanding officers; those eyes were not that of a living being either, identical to Julian’s. So, if Roe was dead, why the fuck could Babe hear him speaking just now? It had to be some fucking illusion, now he’d  _ really _ lost his marbles. “Ya ain’t crazy, Heffron. I’m here.”  _ Oh shit _ . Had Babe spoken out loud? He cleared his throat, placing a palm over his heart, reminded by the beats that he was, in fact, still alive, even if he wasn’t well. 

“Why? Why are ya here, Gene? Is this a punishment? Could I have saved ya, too?” Babe questioned, ignoring the sting of his tears freezing to his cheeks. The guilt was overwhelming--maybe if Babe had known that Gene had gone to Bastogne, maybe if he lured him with the idea of company and shitty humor, the medic would’ve stayed back, with  _ him _ , and would still be alive today. 

Eugene shook his head, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. “No, Babe. I just didn’t want to leave ya. You guys need someone lookin’ after ya--even if I can’t help anymore, I can still...watch over ya? That sounded better in my head.” 

Babe let out a meager attempt of a laugh, warm breath fogging the air in front of them. No such residual reminders of breathing lingered in front of either Julian or Eugene. “You’re still putting everyone before yerself, even in death. Can’t say that I’m surprised, but you should move on. Go to Heaven, like ya deserve.” One thing that had bonded the two was their shared faith, and even now, after everything that Babe had seen, he still had some hope that after all this suffering there was an idealistic, comfortable hereafter. Even if evidence of otherwise sat directly in front of him now. 

“I’m not sure that I can,” Eugene murmured, forever cold lips slow to move and easy to catch together. “When I woke up, all I knew was that I had ta get back ta ya.” The honesty brought a blush to Babe’s already cold kissed cheeks. Though it was an extremely flattering notion, Babe wasn’t sure how good he would feel if he were the reason that Eugene couldn’t move on. He stared at the ghosts in front of him for a lingering moment, quivering as he mulled over the situation. Surely, if it were anything other than a dead man professing an attachment to him, anyone but  _ Eugene _ , Babe would be afraid, would try and get the ghost to leave him be. However, just as he was unable to shove Julian away, Roe would remain, whether he wanted him to stay there or not. 

“I should’ve stopped ya from leaving in the first place, Gene. You shouldn’t have been there.” Babe was quite happy to take all the blame if it meant absolution for the medic. The smile that normally would’ve warmed him to his core was empty now, pale in comparison to the comfort that radiated from Eugene when he was alive. A gray hand broached the distance between them, offered in the frigid air. Babe took it, a tingling sensation flowing through him from where their skin pressed together. It didn’t feel as it should’ve, but it was enough for Babe, who feared he’d never get the closure of seeing the man he loved again. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Edward. It was my time.” It sounded to Babe like a means to console himself of what had happened more than to console him, but he let the lie echo through the trees regardless. He closed his eyes, cheeks twitching from the chill of his frozen eyelashes. Babe was lulled to the first real sleep he’d had in days, finding solace that at least if Eugene was dead, he wasn’t alone. 

Babe inhaled a ragged breath, tearing his helmet from his head and throwing it as hard and far as he could in the snow with a feral snarl. He was shaking, but when was the rifleman not? Babe didn’t realize his fingers were stiffening until the pain began to radiate through his hand; he clenched his jaw but didn’t move to force them out of the position. His ever-present shadow companions loitered behind him, now joined by Hoobler, whose expression was stuck in a state of shock, juxtaposing the smile on Julian’s face. Roe, the only one who remained somewhat similar to what he was alive, approached cautiously, taking Babe’s hand in his own. He began to diligently maneuver Babe’s fingers into the correct position, one at a time, a determined grimace pinching his lips. The only sound was Babe’s grunts of pain before he finally spoke. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve helped Bill carry Toye to safety. Instead, I was trapped in a foxhole, beggin’ for help, distractin’ Lipton from someone who needed him.” 

“It ain’t your fault that ya were in trouble, too. You’re toeing a line tha ya shouldn’t be, Babe. Blamin’ yourself for everythin’ ain’t goin’ to bring anyone back.” Roe replied, tone curt, though compassionate. 

“Neither will givin’ me pity. There’s a reason that everyone I care about keeps dyin’ around me, and it don’t look bad for anyone but me.” How telling was it of Babe’s character that he was surviving all of this shit? Was he anything more than just a coward?” 

“Guarnere and Toye ain’t dead, Babe,” Roe replied, smoothing a frigid thumb along the line of Babe’s knuckles, more grounding than the wet, blood coated palm that Lipton had cradled the scruff of his neck with moments ago. 

“They good as it, though, ain’t they?” Babe snapped back, regretting the words the second they left his lips. Even though Roe’s eyes were glassy and grey, he could still feel the emotion in his gaze and he shrunk under it, shoulders hunching, anger dissipating into the wind. “Sorry. I don’t mean to--deep down, I know it ain’t me, it’s the Germans, but I can’t help in thinkin’ I could’ve done somethin’.” 

Roe stared at him, unwavering. “Ya know where that sort of thinkin’ gets you? Buried under a pile of rubble, beggin’ fo’ ya Mama until ya can’t breathe.” 

Babe’s breath hitched, tears welling in his eyes.  _ Christ _ . It was a visceral image, one that would haunt him; Eugene’s slight form, struggling underneath a collapsed building until he couldn’t take a breath, until the bricks crushed his chest. He had, of course, some idea of what had happened to the medic, but was lacking in the details up to this moment. Struggling to find the proper words, Babe wrapped his arms around Eugene and pulled him close, cradling him to his chest. It wasn’t like Babe could go back in time and change what had happened, but he could hold him in the here and now. As if that would make it up to him. “Fuck, I wish I had been there with ya, at least. So ya wouldn’t have had to be alone.” 

“I don’t, Babe. I’m glad ya didn’t see it.” Roe muttered against the fabric of Babe’s jacket, frosty palm pressed against his shoulderblade. 

For all intents and purposes, it felt as though Easy had escaped the swinging pendulum of danger, at least for now. They hadn’t been indoors for months, now offered the hospitality of a small church, more comfortable than the harsh forest of the Ardennes. Babe lay with his head twisted at an odd angle, nose pressed to the hard wood of a pew, his eyelids heavy with the weight of exhaustion which had finally come to a head now that he was no longer exposed to the elements. Roe sat beside him, mesmerized by the flickering light of the candles surrounding them, which was, quite certainly, a fire hazard of some sort. Next to him were Julian and Hoobler, Muck and Penkala in front, as well Herron, Mellot, Sowosky, Kenneth, and Harold Webb. The former five were more grainy than the rest, blurred in Babe’s vision, disappearing and reappearing. They would not linger long, Babe knew, not like the others. 

Sniffling, Babe rubbed his face against his shoulder for a moment before reclining back, nary an inch of space between him and Roe. While his companion remained transfixed on the candles, Babe’s gaze fell to Speirs and Lipton, who stood a bit in front of them, speaking in low tones. He recognized the way that they looked at one another, knew that the warmth in their expressions was exactly how he’d always looked at Roe. A burning, bitter jealousy grew in the pit of his stomach and he clenched his jaw, huffing as he looked away. 

Babe felt Roe shift beside him, likely taking in the sight before them in an attempt to understand why he was suddenly so upset. It only took a moment for him to realize what was going on, as he reached for Babe’s hand soon after, squeezing it in his gentle grip. “Ya deserve a love like that, too, Edward.” 

Babe huffed again but didn’t move to tear his hand away, just turned his head enough so that he could look at Eugene. “I don’t want that. I want  _ you _ .” Perhaps it was a bit childish, but it was true; what he had wanted had been ripped from him, and he could only hope and pray that the same wouldn’t happen to the officers. 

Eugene sighed. He didn’t need to breathe, so Babe knew that the gesture was purely for his benefit. “But ya can’t have me, Babe. I’m dead.” Babe clenched his jaw, stubborn in his want to avoid the truth of the matter, which, even with this lingering simulacrum, was that Roe had died, and he would remain dead, despite any pleading and begging Babe performed on his behalf. “Ya need to let me go and move on. I don’t want to be tha reason ya don’t end up happy.” 

Babe scrubbed at his eyes with his free hand in an attempt to stop the tears; it failed. “I don’t think I could ever be happy, Gene. Not after all this.” Even with the company of Eugene, the sadness inside him was overwhelming and all-consuming, persisting in the shining light and safety of this church, darkness folding the edges of what never had the possibility of being a prolific, positive fairytale. There was no happy ending for Babe, not now. 

“There’s no one I have more faith in,” Gene replied, leaning his head against Babe’s shoulder; the weight that Babe would expect wasn’t there, but he still felt the permeating chill settle in his bones. Babe dropped his head, pressing his nose into Eugene’s scalp. He smelled of nothing, and Babe found that he desperately missed it, even the near rotting smell of months without bathing. “I’ll always be with you, Babe, but I can’t haunt you forever.” 

A part of him wanted to argue that  _ yes _ , Eugene sure as hell could. It hurt him most of the time, but the pain was more comforting than the loneliness. However, Eugene had every right to pass on, to wrench himself free of Babe’s hopelessly clinging fingers and ascend, to progress to whatever was waiting after life. He’d been Babe’s companion long enough, protecting and caring for him as he had when he was still alive, but there was no saving him from  _ this. _ This deep aching in his chest, a gaping wound could not be fixed by the cool touch of someone long dead. Babe swallowed, pressing a kiss to noncorporeal hair. “I know, Gene. I know. I love you.” 

“I love you too, Babe.” 

  
  


Babe was thankful for that scarf covering his neck, as it gave ample room for him to bury his face in, to hide the scoff that Webster didn’t truly deserve. Something in Babe had died in Bastogne and grim reminders of the happy, carefree young man he used to be were reflected in David’s eager and friendly expression. He hadn’t seen what they had seen, suffered as they had suffered. Babe couldn’t even look Webster in the eyes. 

“Must’ve liked that hospital, ‘cause uh, we left Holland four months ago,” Babe tuned into the conversation as Liebgott began grilling Webster. 

“Well, I wasn’t there the whole time. There was rehabilitation and the replacement depot-” 

“Well, I’m sure ya tried to bust out and help us in Bastogne, Web.” 

“I don’t know how I would’ve done that.” 

“That’s funny, cause Popeye found a way. So did, Alley, right, back in Holland?” Liebgott addressed Babe now, and he could only nod his head and grunt in affirmation before looking away. “And Guarnere-” 

“Yeah, where is Guarnere? He still your platoon Sergeant?” Webster asked, the question pressing a red hot poker to the base of Babe’s throat. He curled his fingers into fists in his lap, steely gaze on his boots. 

“No. He got hit.” Jackson answered this time before hopping off the back of the transport truck, Joe quickly following, leaving Babe and his rage to simmer with the poor, unfortunate Webster. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, Bill got hit. Blew his whole leg off.” Babe bristled, gesturing dangerously with his rifle as he turned his back to Webster and followed the line of men into Haguenau.  _ Bill blew his leg off. Toye, too. Muck and Penkala in pieces. Hoobler bled out. Julian had his throat torn apart. Roe was crushed to death by a building _ . Webster had missed everything, shit that would haunt Babe for the rest of his life, just like the cool presence of Julian at his side, an affectionate smile forever frozen on his features. 


End file.
